Did you ever think about the fact that Canada and the USA used to be one? Up until the end of the War for Independence (or as the other side calls it, the Colonial Rebellion) there was a mass of land here where some was ruled by Britain, some by France and Spain, and oh, yes, there were the original inhabitants who kept getting edged over to the side so that there would be more room for the “advanced” people to settle in. There was no major division between Canada and US – it all belonged to European countries. Crossing the Detroit River or the Niagara was no different than crossing the Delaware into New Jersey. We were one.
As a consequence of the war, boundary lines were drawn up, and Canada stayed with Britain while the 13 colonies became the United States of America, gradually adding on more and more states as time went by.
Life was pretty nasty here around then. Neighbors and family members took opposing sides of the Revolutionary War. http://www.nps.gov/cowp/historyculture/fractured-families.htm While nobody liked the decisions of King George, some thought that separating from England was morally wrong while others thought it was time to start a new country. Maybe we’ll hit on some issues later. But for now my point is this: when the border was decided upon, and the United States was being established, a great number of people who preferred to stay with England, thank you very much, high-tailed it over that border to stay. And – there were already a whole lot of people up there who were loyal to England already.
So at the very beginning of the United States, Canadians didn’t really like US because we’d just been shooting at them and breaking away from their beloved country. So, the anti-American roots go pretty deep.
Now – I’m not saying that all Canadians are anti-American today – I’m just tracing where the negativity started and how and why it grew. More later…
Back in 1998 we made our first trek up to Ontario, and I expect we’ll continue to do so for the rest of my life.
It all started with taking our kids to a Christian camp http://www.campfirebiblecamp.ca/about.html that was affiliated with our church here in PA. It grew to attending two weeks of camp each summer and taking other kids along – to going to Spring and Autumn youth conferences – to having two of my sons date and eventually marry Canadian women – and another son attending 4 years at Redeemer College http://www.redeemer.ca/up there. So, yeah, my car pretty much knows the way up there by heart – straight up the turnpike to 81 to 690 in Syracuse to 90 West to Buffalo and across the Peace Bridge http://www.peacebridge.com/to Ft. Erie, Ontario and north on the QEW.
Somewhere along the way I decided it would be a good idea to study Canadian History http://www.canadahistory.com/ since we were going up there so often. Having grown up in Detroit, MI where going over to Canada was almost like going over to Camden NJ – http://www.ambassadorbridge.com/except there were a few questions to answer – I thought I k new a lot about Canada.
But generally, very few Americans know much about Canada at all. They are just kind of “there,” and we basically don’t care a whole lot to learn about it.
My first surprise was the anti-American sentiments. More later….
We moved into a home in Glenside with an old woman. This was the deal: we got free rent in exchange for being there, helping her out a bit, keeping an eye on things. We only had to pay some of the utilities, that’s all. Sweet deal, right? Well, it all comes down to definitions. I was teaching and working as an Admissions Director at a small Institute, and when I came home in the evenings, I was happy to greet her and chat a bit, but I also had papers to grade and lessons to plan and I wanted to sit upstairs in our “living room” with my husband who was a seminary student. It was pleasant to sit and read together. I watched the clock, and didn’t mind helping her (stroke victim) to get undressed every night. We offered to help with meals, but she preferred to have Meals on Wheels and to make her own food or have her daughter do it on the weekends.
“Oh, Sharon, I never thought you would do this to me,” Mrs. S. said, in her guilt-producing, whiny, pathetic kind of way. She was complaining that she had let us move in so that we would be “company” for her, but all I wanted to do was to go upstairs and leave her all alone. Sigh. So I ended up spending at least every other evening sitting and watching game shows and whatever else suited her and chatting, while grading papers in the green armchair in her living room downstairs.
The oddest things would set her off. One day my husband was shoveling the snow in the driveway, for us and also for her children who would visit weekly. While shoveling, he “threw some snow on the side of the garage!” She was so upset she had to toddle across the room and get a valium.
I heard her use “the line” regularly on her daughter as well. I guess what we learned was that “living there free” wasn’t really worth it.
We lived there for 9 months, and the day we moved out of there, I was 7 months pregnant with our first child, and the next morning I said to my husband, “the best thing about this new house is that there is no old lady downstairs.”
Two of her three kids avoided coming over as much as possible. Her daughter came 2 or 3 times a week to help her out. She steadfastly refused to go places because she was ashamed of having to ride in a wheelchair and it was getting harder and harder for her to walk with her 4 pronged cane, (whom she had named “Freddy.”) Her kids found her whining annoying and it was hard to be around her, which only made her whine all the more.
After we moved out, a single woman moved in. She didn’t last long either.
I think, and my kids can quote me on this someday (and will, I’m sure), that we have a responsibility to grow old graciously so that our kids will want to spend time with us.
We had two old neighbors. He was the typical grumpy old codger and she was the typical sweet lady. I guess they were around 80 years old. Harry died, and Marie was left there in the home where they had raised their son and daughter. She didn’t want to leave. She got a bit more frail, and they worried about her. Her son lived in Connecticut and he wanted her to come and live with him and his family. “Oh, I don’t want to be a burden,” she said, and insisted on living right there in Olney on 4th Street near Grange.
Her daughter worried after she took a fall and they made her get one of those gadgets to carry with her at all times so that she would be able to call for help. Her daughter lived in Virginia and wanted her to come and live with her and her family. “Oh, I don’t want to be a burden,” Marie said.
Well, Marie, you were MORE of a burden by insisting on staying in your own home than you could ever have been staying at either of their homes. Your son had to drive down to see you once a week to help you out, and your daughter had to drive up to see you once a week. Both of them worried constantly about you and called a couple of times a day. I know that you loved your home and your memories and your independence – that’s probably really what you meant.
But if you REALLY didn’t want to be a burden, you should have moved in with one of them. Memories can be attached to items and photos and new experiences with your children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren. They could have all known you in your last years, and they would have cared more than the neighbors did. Instead, you ended up in an old folks home after you broke your hip – your kids put you there because you refused to move north or south, and so you lived there in Philadelphia instead while they cleared out your stuff and sold the house and told you that you couldn’t go back there and live alone anymore.
You shouldn’t have been so stubborn, Marie. You made yourself more of a burden than was necessary.
Next time: Mary S.
Ronnie Milsap has a song that I love about old folks:
He’s always up and out of bed before the morning comes
He mumbles and he grumbles about all that must be done
There’s eighty years of memories that rattle in his head
Whiskey and cigars that he keeps stashed beside his bed
He believes the world went straight to hell When Brooklyn lost the Dodgers
Some say that he’s lost his mind
Some call him an old codger
Oh, but he’s just old folks…..old folks
Blessed is the child of yesterday
Love those old folks
And with a little luck and the lord to see us through
One day, we will be old folks, too
She used to bake the sweetest pies I swear I ever ate
I’d steal the batter from the bowl ’cause I could never wait
But now her hands are bent and sore; arthritis rages wild
But you would never know they hurt the way she always smiles
She believes the world is good and kind but would love warmer weather
And her grandkids are perfect though sometimes they forget her
All because she’s old folks…..she’s old folks
Blessed is the child of yesterday
Love those old folks
And with a little luck and the lord to see us through
One day, we will be old folks, too
Oh, with a little luck and the lord to see us through
One day, we will be old folks, too
That’s a good start to the topic. More tomorrow….
I was about 10 years old and I was walking to the corner grocery store, probably to get milk and bread, like usual. There, in the driveway of a neighbor whom I did not know, was a bright orange Dodge Charger! Wow!
I’m not really a “car” person, and for me a car (or a home) is more about function than form. My self-concept has little connection with whether it has scratches or dents or is dirty or clean, for that matter, and popularity is irrelevant. Does it do what I need it to do, and if possible, is it a color that I like.
So: I saw the Dodge Charger, and I was really taken with it. I went home and told my family that I wanted one of those when I learned to drive. I think my Dad pointed out that maybe since that car would be about 8 years old by then, I might be able to afford it. There was just something about the shape of it, as well as being orange, which I love. It was cool.
Just imagine it in orange!
Ok, so the next car I remember thinking was really, really cool was the Ford Mustang. There were a number of years that I liked, but I always wanted the best shade of red, and no convertible. There were also some that were made that I didn’t like. Ok, so I got the orange on this one – there’s only so many pix available online in a 2 minute search. 🙂 You get the idea.
The next car that I really liked, I actually got! My first car was an old Ford Falcon, as mentioned in an earlier post. My second was an old green Pinto and my third was a newer Pinto, light blue – the first “pretty” car I had. I was watching TV one night and I saw an ad that said “Chevy Chevette, it’ll drive you happy…..” (I can still sing it!) I took one look at it and said, “I like that car! I would love to have one of those.” It just suited me. It was practical and classy in it’s own way, had four doors (I was tired of two door cars) and well, I like it. Sometime after that my Dad bought a black one with a red stripe on the side of it and I really liked driving it. So after our Pinto died at 5:45 a.m. on a morning when it was literally 10 degrees below zero in Detroit, we bought a Chevette from the same dealer my Dad had gone to. He made the deal and we chose the color off of a color chart….which unfortunately turned out to be a chart from the year before. We went in to get the car, and it was all prepped and ready – we had signed the papers and handed over a check with a deep swallow at the thought of spending $4000 ove the next 3 years for a brand new car – our first…..and we walked outside and it was the wrong color! It was supposed to be royal blue on the chart, but it was actually turquoise. Yikes! Inside, I wanted to balk. I wanted to change it, but there it sat, all ready signed for, running, and ready, and I knew that my husband would not understand the aesthetics of the color difference. So I gulped and determined to drive a turquoise car and by so doing learned that one can get over such disappointments eventually (although I did gripe now and then, I’m afraid.)
Just imagine this one in a dark turquoise color. This – was a great car. We drove it for 6 years, sold it to my brother who drove it for another two years, and then he sold it to our sister who drove it for another year or two. If we hadn’t moved quickly from two kids to four, we would have driven it longer still.
Imagine this in dark green!
I drove a 12 passenger van for ten years: 1994-2004.
When our sixth child was born, we were legally and physically cramped in our 7 passenger Caravan, and so I went shopping. I found out that a 12 passenger didn’t cost any more than an 8 passenger and we wouldn’t really save much on gasoline between the two options, so it made sense to have a vehicle which could hold a few friends. I went to two dealerships and asked for a 12 passenger van.
“What do you want on it?”
“Four wheels and 12 seatbelts. A/C would be nice.” At both of them, the salesman walked away from me and had no interest in helping us find what we needed. If we didn’t want a super-duper VHS player and 7 or 8 captain’s chairs, well, then forget it.
I was walking out of ShopRite and I saw exactly the kind of vehicle that I wanted. I introduced myself to the couple, and they were more than happy to tell me about their six kids and the dealer out in Norristown who had found them their first 12-er, and this second one as well. Dave gave me the name of Carfagno Chevrolet http://www.carfagnochevy.com/ and the manager’s name at the time: Vince G. I called Vince, stopped in to see him, and he promised to find us a van. Within a couple of weeks he had sent a guy to a dealer’s auction, found us a 1994 dark green Chevy Beauville that had 24,000 miles on it and had belonged to a rental agency. Vince had the shop check it over and pronounced it a good vehicle. Dave trusted him, and so I did too. $15,000 on a six year cycle with a warranty going to 75,000, and we were all set! Whoo – hoo! No more arguments with cramped quarters!
Yeah, right. The first Sunday that we drove to church, there were two kids on each bench, with enough space in between for one or two kids, depending on the bench. Somebody reached over and poked somebody else, who yelled, and I said quite loudly, “Oh, no you don’t!
The big green van had a couple of little dings in it, which I added to later on while mastering reverse gear with that length. I have to admit to feeling a little disappointed when I first looked inside and found that the gray carpeting (already not my favorite color) was permanently stained in a few places. Then I cheered up! “Hey, it’s pre-stained, so now I won’t get upset when the kids spill anything on it!”
That van took a dozen kids to Six Flags, and ten up to Campfire! Summer Bible Camp in Ontario.http://www.campfirebiblecamp.ca/ It took our family to Houston and back, and to Detroit more times than I can remember. That van was responsible for our son Brian’s first meeting of his future wife. I drove many field trips and birthday outings and moved a lot of furniture because I could.
One Thursday after piano practice out near Potshop Road, I noticed that a neighbor was getting rid of a twin sized box spring and mattress, in perfectly good condition. A definite upgrade to some of the ones we had. I made the guys help me stuff it into the van over the top of the seats and made the 5 kids all crouch down underneath it for the entire ride home to Philly (45 minutes.) It was probably safer than seat belts. 🙂 The toddler was in her carseat up front. ( I know, that’s frowned upon now….)
My vanity license plate from the van hangs in our hallway upstairs. It expressed my sentiments exactly: EXTRA RM
We had the extra room to take others along, give rides, and contribute to social life and fellowship. It was a great van, and I shed a tear of rememberance when we sold it (only one, because by then the repair bills were killing us!) 🙂
I named my first car Derek. That’s because when I was in 5th and 6th grade there was a kid in my school who lived on my street named Derek Gurchowski (sp-I’m sure that’s incorrect, but that’s how it was pronounced). Derek seemed like a tough guy although he wasn’t a problem, and he was also rather handsome, although that doesn’t fit my analogy. I just came away with the idea that Derek was a “tough” name. I was sure my car was a guy, because I found him hard to understand, and there were a few other reasons which escape me right now.
And “my” car – the first to be called “mine” looked like “he” had been in a few fights. It was a 1966 Ford Falcon in an ugly shade somewhere between icky green and yucky beige. http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.midamericafalcons.com/images/young2.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.midamericafalcons.com/youngs.html&h=227&w=400&sz=28&tbnid=B6StevI3aqAzSM:&tbnh=72&tbnw=126&prev=/search%3Fq%3D1966%2BFalcon%26tbm%3Disch%26tbo%3Du&zoom=1&q=1966+Falcon&usg=__aZTtTxXVA0XFp9jq7dro24wy0HA=&sa=X&ei=lc3rTafjL-jg0QHD_5CZAQ&ved=0CCsQ9QEwAg&dur=312
It had several dents in it and my dad had hit a deer with it while it was “their” car, so the front end was missing the grill and was fairly damaged. It was a stick shift and my parents wouldn’t let me get my license until I could drive it, since that was the default vehicle at the time and they didn’t want me driving their newer Chevy or Olds or whatever the family car was.
So, Dad taught me to drive (more on that later!) and I got my license just before I turned 18 and I was thrilled to have ANY vehicle, ANY wheels at all. It became mine, and I drove it to college and back daily for 2 years and it always started, even in the midst of Detroit’s below-zero weather. The hood had to be fastened down with a piece of solder wire since there was no longer any clasp.
One November day I was driving across to the East side to sing in a concert or something, and I stopped for gas along the way. I told the attendant to be sure to fasten down the hood and he said that he had, and I didn’t check. So here I am, about 10 pm on the Southfield Expressway heading towards home and noticing that the hood seems bouncier than usual. The thought flipped through my mind: what would I do if the hood flew up? (NOTE: being 18, it didn’t occur to me to brave the shoulder of the road and get out and check right then.) I thought it through and had just finished when it flew up! No visibility! I checked the mirrors, pulled over onto the right shoulder and stopped. I got out and with all my might I was able to pull the damaged hood down enough to be able to secure it again. It now looked like a relief map of the Appalachians.
This wasn’t a car worth “fixing” and so on Thanksgiving morning my dad and older brother went outside with a sledge hammer and pounded it down flat so it would be easy to secure. Not concerned a bit about what my vehicle looked like, I found it immensely humorous, and practical. About six months later I was driving down in Allen Park, on Southfield again, and an old woman pulled out of the AAA parking lot (where she had just paid her bill–another amusing touch for my storytelling) and ran into Derek’s right front fender. Smash! My first accident. I used the insurance money to pay my school tuition, and put a “PTLA – Praise the Lord anyway!” sticker right in the dent.
A wealthier student once asked me when I was going to get Derek repaired and I asked, “Why should I?” I was really rather proud that they put his picture in the yearbook on the Commuters page.
Next time: learning to drive
This skeptic was won over.
Junk My Car is a legit biz and a great way to make $ off your old car. www.junkmycar.com. We got $730 for our 2005 Saturn that had a good body but didn’t run – something about the “head” and needing about $2000 worth of work on it. Not worth it.
I FEARED to trust them with the title, but they are legit. Learned I could have gotten $358 for my Taurus last year instead of the dealer’s $200. I ‘m skeptical: I called the president of the company and heard about the history of the company and all. 🙂 He convinced me to trust them – he collects about 60,000 vehicles a year – fixes some and re-sells overseas, uses others for parts, and the worst ones go for scrap. We got a good amount for a dead car!
They are all over the USA and Canada. His parents owned a junk yard and he saw a need and found a way to fulfill it. Their staff are very helpful and they answer promptly. Took about a day to get the car picked up and then about 3 weeks to get the check, and yes, it cleared! 🙂 I’m happy, and to re-phrase a song by the Monkees: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XfuBREMXxts
“Cash came to my place: now I’m a believer! Not a trace of doubt in my mind! I’m in love – ooh, I’m a believer, of cash a receiver, it’s sublime….”
More about cars next time…
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